


I'll know my name as it's called again

by gamerfic



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Sex, Canon Disabled Character, Developing Relationship, F/M, Hopeful Ending, Light Angst, Moving On, Post-Trespasser, Romance, Slow Burn, Well of Sorrows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-16 23:04:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8121094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamerfic/pseuds/gamerfic
Summary: After the destruction of the Temple of Mythal and the loss of the world he knew, Abelas wanted only to be left alone. But when former Inquisitor Lavellan asks him to help her master the power of the Well of Sorrows, he realizes that following her is his last, best chance to preserve the knowledge to which he has devoted his life. As Abelas and Lavellan team up to confront a group of Fen'Harel's agents in the Arbor Wilds, they discover a way forward through the heartbreak of the past - together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amarmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarmeme/gifts).



At first, Abelas didn't recognize the elf who appeared on his doorstep one rainy spring afternoon, though when she spoke her voice was vaguely familiar. "Abelas, I need your help."

"How do you know my name?" he asked, taken aback. For years his only visitors had been human peasants from the nearby villages, offering him small coins and barter goods in exchange for spells to cure their livestock or improve the yields of their crops or catch a lover's eye. They had seen the tattoos on his face and dubbed him "Keeper," erroneously believing him Dalish. He had gladly accepted the alias. No one around him had ever heard his true name, nor learned his reasons for choosing a hermit's simple life at the edge of the Arbor Wilds.

The woman swept back the hood of her woolen cloak to reveal pointed ears and a face unmarked by _vallaslin._ "Abelas was the name you used when I met you before. Shall I call you something different now?"

"Impossible," Abelas said sharply. "I don't know you." But the more the woman talked, the more certain he became that he _had_ met her before. He had to make her leave, before she could summon up the self he had fought so valiantly to leave behind.

"Oh. Right. I suppose you wouldn't recognize me anymore. I've changed, haven't I?" Her mouth twisted wryly. She fumbled in the folds of her cloak and revealed a tarnished brooch in the shape of a flaming eye pierced by a sword. This, too, was vaguely familiar. "You knew me as Inquisitor Lavellan. We were allies once, briefly, at the Temple of Mythal."

 _Of course._ Unwanted memories flooded him: his abrupt awakening from _uthenera_ , the attack on the Temple of Mythal, the deaths of his fellow sentinels who had shared his vigil for millennia. His final, defeated flight from his destroyed sanctuary, knowing the Well of Sorrows he had devoted his life to protecting was lost for all time. The Inquisitor who had come to him then, with gleaming armor and enchanted weapons and _vallaslin_ on her face and an army at her back, had been nothing like the lean, travel-worn, haunted woman who now stood at his threshold. _Small wonder I didn't recognize her. What in Mythal's name happened to her?_ "I had forgotten."

"I don't blame you." She shivered against a gust of cold, wet wind. "I'm sure there are many things you don't want to remember. I can relate. But I wouldn't have come here if I had any other choice. Will you hear me out? Please?"

Abelas considered it. As badly as he wanted to be left alone, he was all too aware of the powerful forces at work in the unfamiliar world into which he had awakened. The longer he resisted the call of _uthenera_ , the more his own ignorance of current events troubled him. The villagers with whom he traded were small-minded and provincial, dealing in wild rumors and half-remembered fragments of secondhand news. Lavellan would surely have enough accurate information to make speaking to her worthwhile. He opened the door wider. "Come in."

The ancient Elvhen had originally constructed the cabin in which Abelas now made his home. It had fallen into ruin, like all the other works of the People of Elvhenan - but he remembered the potential of the building where everyone else had forgotten it. He had spent a long, hazy summer repairing the masonry of the crumbling walls and re-thatching the long-rotted roof. The result was a humble, cozy home sparsely furnished with little more than basic necessities. Lavellan took in her surroundings as she dropped her bulky traveler's pack beside the door and removed her outerwear. As she struggled to hang her cloak on a hook on the wall, Abelas noted that her left arm was missing, amputated just above the elbow. Once it had borne a crackling magical mark that had effortlessly opened and closed Fade rifts. When she turned back to him, slightly flushed from the effort of lifting and arranging the heavily sodden fabric, she raised her eyebrows at how his gaze lingered on the pinned-up sleeve of her tunic. "What happened to the mark on your hand, Inquisitor?" he asked, fully expecting her not to answer.

"The Anchor was killing me," she replied matter-of-factly. "It was either lose my life, or my arm - and the mark with it. I had no choice. And I'm not the Inquisitor any longer. I haven't been for more than a year now."

"Did you have any choice in _that_ matter?"

"After a fashion. I'm not the Inquisitor because there isn't an Inquisition anymore. It had served its purpose, so I dissolved it. Circumstances changed, and it would have done more harm than good if it had remained active."

Lavellan's clipped tone told Abelas there was much more to the story of the Inquisition's demise, but for the moment he didn't pry. It wouldn't do to distract himself from the real purpose of her visit. "Without it, how did you find me?"

"I may not have the power of the Inquisition behind me, but I've kept the friends I made while it existed. Some of them have very unique skills. You're quite distinctive, you know, Abelas, to people who know where to look."

"If your informants are so insightful, surely they must understand the life I lead is of little consequence to anyone. I ally myself with no one, nor do I seek to. There is nothing I can offer you. What do you want from me?"

"I drank from the Well of Sorrows."

Abelas was dumbstruck. He had known when he walked away from the Temple of Mythal that someone unprepared and unworthy would consume the power of the _vir'abelasan_. The human mage who had accompanied the Inquisition's party had been practically salivating over it. He had not wanted to be there as a witness to her binding, to the profanation of all he had given his life to preserve. So he had left assuming the human would consume it, and had never discovered any reason to believe she had not. The idea of a Dalish warrior with no magical talents drinking instead was ludicrous. Yet when he reached for Lavellan with his mage's senses he immediately touched the Well's power, barely contained within the bounds of her spirit. Mythal's claim on her was as plain as the tattoos on her face had once been. "Why?" he finally managed to ask.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," she said with a joyless smirk, and cast her gaze to the floor. "I never really wanted any of this. I drank because I thought it would prevent something worse from happening. And if it's any consolation, I understand now how foolish I was. You were right. I wasn't ready. I've never been able to use it the way I wanted to."

"Unsurprising, yes."

"I told you I was a fool. No need to belabor the point. Besides, Mythal has already scolded me about this personally, thank you very much."

Abelas had been wrong to think nothing else could shock him. He knew his mouth was hanging open, and he forced himself to shut it and swallow hard before he spoke again. "Mythal is alive?"

"Yes. Or some part of her is, at least. And she wants me on her side. Don't ask me how it's possible, because I don't know. I just know I'm bound to her, like you said I would be."

He tried to swallow his anger and confusion, to make sense of the impossibility of what he was hearing. _Why didn't Mythal tell me about this? She was alive. She had to know I was willing to continue in her service. And she abandoned me! Why would she choose Lavellan instead?_ "What has she asked of you?"

"Not much. I've only encountered her directly once. When I did, she said she didn't have any commands for me yet. But recently, things have changed. The Well is...speaking to me, somehow. Sending me dreams and visions. There's something it - or maybe Mythal - needs me to do. I want to obey, but I can't understand it."

"And you believe I am the one to interpret it for you?"

"Is there anyone else alive who can?"

Growing rage simmered in his chest. "You stole the _vir'abelasan_. You all but led Corypheus to it. I owe you nothing."

"Corypheus would always have come to your temple, whether the Inquisition had pursued him or not. Would you rather he have given the Well's power to Samson?"

"I would rather it had never been disturbed at all."

"As would I. But that's not the world we get to live in, is it?" Lavellan sighed. Abelas noticed for the first time how defeated and exhausted she looked. "None of this is what anyone wanted. I'm just trying to make the most of what I've been given. Don't you want to do the same, so what you fought for won't go to waste?"

"You assume you are worthy to use the Well at all. Perhaps I should simply consider its knowledge squandered and get on with my life. Give me one good reason I should help you."

"Fen'Harel has returned to this world from the Fade."

Abelas searched Lavellan's face for some sign she was joking, but found none. _She truly believes this. Could she be mistaken?_ "How do you know?"

"He told me."

_"What?"_

Lavellan's calm, measured tone suggested she was accustomed to justifying this particular claim. "By any chance, do you remember the elven mage who accompanied me at the temple?"

"Yes. Solas." Their interactions had been brief yet memorable - _Your people yet linger,_ Solas had said, and later, _Malas amelin ne halam._ Both pronouncements lingered in Abelas's mind these many years later. At the temple, Abelas had immediately recognized Solas as a fellow ancient Elvhen, of course. It had been obvious in his speech, in his face and body, in his casual acceptance of truths long forgotten by others. Abelas regretted that there had been no time for the two of them to converse at greater length. Later, he had considered seeking Solas out, then dismissed it as a pointless exercise in nostalgia. Commiserating over what might have been would do nothing to rebuild Elvhenan. And if he correctly understood what Lavellan was implying, it was for the best that he had never reached out to Solas. "Do you mean to say he was…"

"The Dread Wolf in disguise? Yes. You were right - Fen'Harel is more than just the evil betrayer he is in Dalish legends. But that doesn't make him a good man." Lavellan sighed again and glanced away. "He wants to restore his People to what they once were. He thinks the only way to bring back Elvhenan is to destroy the Veil, even though he knows how much chaos and suffering it would cause. He may have meant well, once, but what he's planning...it will destroy this world and everything in it. I have to stop him. And I think that's what Mythal and the Well are trying to do, too."

"What do you mean?"

"The dreams and visions I've had - they have to be warnings of some sort. The servants of the Well share my consciousness now, and they're trying to tell me about something I can do to thwart Fen'Harel's plans. But I don't know how to interpret it." Her eyes were on him again, clear and focused. "Now do you understand why I needed to find you?"

"Yes," said Abelas, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. "How many people know about this?"

"Not many. I'm not ready to share it with the world yet - not until I've learned more about what I'm up against. The Well can help me get there. Please, Abelas. Will you help me figure it out?"

Abelas did not know how to reply. Ignoring Lavellan's pleas seemed as ridiculous as trusting her. "I need time to consider your request."

"I understand."

Beyond the window, the already cloudy sky was darkening into evening. Rain continued to fall in a steady drizzle. "No matter what I decide, you may spend the night here, if you'd like. I'll have an answer for you in the morning."

"Good idea. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Offering hospitality to Lavellan was the proper thing to do, but to deliberate beneath the weight of her attention was more than Abelas could bear. "Help yourself to whatever you find here. I will return." Without another word he stepped through the door, his mind churning with possibilities he had spent years trying to ignore. 


	2. Chapter 2

Abelas strode briskly through the forest, heedless of the rain. Cold droplets of water splashed on his bare head and rolled down his face. Damp ferns slapped stingingly against his legs as he hiked, far from any path. He knew he would be utterly drenched by the time he returned to shelter, but he didn't care. The discomforts of his body were nothing compared to his inner turmoil.

In time he reached his destination. A ruined white marble edifice stood in the center of an isolated clearing, its roof caved in and its sagging walls overgrown with vines and moss. On a pedestal in its center was a weathered statue of a beautiful elven woman who looked nothing like the Mythal he had once followed. The elves who had built this shrine had done so long after the fall of Arlathan. They could never have known Mythal as he had, and he could never worship her as they had. Yet this secret, undisturbed place held a peace unequaled by anywhere else in the forest. It was ideal for moments like this, when his doubts loomed over him and he needed silence and stillness in order to confront and conquer them.

Before the statue was a small bench from which he had previously swept away the centuries of accumulated dirt and vegetation. He sat down upon it and turned his focus to the slow, steady rhythm of his own heartbeat until his troubled thoughts cleared and he sank into a meditative state. He would stay this way, his attention spiraling ever inward, for as long as it took to reach a decision about how best to proceed with Lavellan's request.

As Abelas meditated, the first emotion he recognized in himself was anger - the same boundless fury he had felt at Lavellan's intrusion upon his solitude and the discovery of how she had profaned the _vir'abelasan_. But behind it there was also something more profound, more visceral, and far more bitter. Lavellan was the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, the holder of the Well of Sorrows. Mythal had even revealed the great secret of her survival to her - a secret she had never entrusted to anyone else in her service. Lavellan was special. _Chosen._ Abelas had dedicated his life to Mythal's service, had entombed himself within her temple believing he would never leave it alive. More than three years had passed since he had fled the comfortable confinement of its walls. In that time he had suffered and struggled and raged against a goddess he had believed long dead. But all the while, Mythal had been alive, hearing his fruitless prayers and ignoring them. Yet she came to Lavellan, the upstart, the usurper?

He deepened his breathing until his mind became placid again. Of course - the true source of his fury toward her was not outrage or offense at her errors, but envy and resentment at her successes. She had blundered into the knowledge he had tried so hard to keep hidden, and she had suffered no consequences for her theft. _Or did she?_ Lavellan had clearly suffered many hardships for the sake of the role thrust upon her. They were written on every inch of her body. Most others would have given up on their duty long ago, yet she continued to pursue what she believed was right. Such persistence was worthy of consideration.

And what of his own responsibilities to the _vir'abelasan_ , to Mythal? Could he truly tell himself they had ended with the destruction of the temple, especially if Mythal yet lived? And if they had not, was it truly the All-Mother's will that he remain alone in his cabin for the rest of his days, watching the world drift farther and farther from what it had once been, all the while doing nothing to arrest its slide into war and chaos? As angry as he was with his goddess, he needed to believe she had some reason for concealing herself from him. To do otherwise would be to renounce his long-held faith in her entirely.

Moreover, Abelas did not think any of Mythal's other sentinels had survived. If he abandoned her now, there would be no one else in Thedas who could watch over the _vir'abelasan_ , who could prepare the way for her if and when she chose to show herself again. As long as the Well existed in any form, it was his duty to protect it, to ensure that it was used in the service of Mythal and her ideals. Lavellan now possessed the Well's power, regardless of whether she was worthy of it. If he rejected her request, was it not also a rejection of every oath he had ever sworn before the All-Mother?

He had made his decision already. He rose from the bench, allowing himself to return to full awareness of the world around him, and bowed briefly to Mythal's statue before he set off into the woods again. Night had fallen, shrouding the forest in near-total blackness, but he moved through the terrain confidently and without fear. Nothing here could threaten him anymore. By the time he reached his cabin the rain had soaked him to the skin. He paused at his own doorstep, beneath the sheltering overhang of the roof, and muttered a spell to instantaneously dry his clothes and body. Then he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The cabin was quiet, warm, and dim. Lavellan appeared to have wasted no time building up the smoldering fire Abelas had left in the hearth. It crackled merrily, casting flickering shadows all around the single room. Judging by the dirty plates and mugs, the apple cores, the rinds of cheese, and the half-eaten loaf of bread on the table, she had taken his offer of hospitality to heart. Now she was curled up on the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace, sound asleep, wrapped head to toe in her traveling cloak and using her boots for a pillow. Her eyes darted from side to side beneath closed lids. He wondered what she was dreaming about.

He tiptoed past her so as not to disturb her slumber and sank into the feather bed on the far side of the room. It had been very brave of her to seek him out. He would not deny her the rest she had earned. The discussion of what came next could wait until morning. All the same, sleep did not come so readily to him as it had to her. He knew it would elude him until he could be certain he was making the right decision.


	3. Chapter 3

In the morning, Lavellan displayed no surprise when Abelas announced he had decided to help her. "I knew it," she said with a slight smile as she laboriously peeled fruit one-handed for her breakfast. "I wouldn't have come all this way if I didn't - ow!" The knife slipped and sliced into her fingertip, and she lifted the wounded digit to her mouth.

"Allow me," said Abelas. He directed a trickle of magic toward Lavellan's abandoned pear, and the remainder of the peel slid off in a single piece. Then, almost as an afterthought, he pointed at her bleeding finger and closed up the tiny cut.

"Good to know Mythal approves of her mages showing off," said Lavellan.

"If my spells offend you, I will refrain from casting them."

"Relax. I was teasing you."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Abelas couldn't remember if anyone had ever teased him in his life.

"In all seriousness, I'm ready to begin whenever you are. What's first?"

"I'll need to take a closer look at you first, to get a better sense of what the Well may have done to you. This situation is...unprecedented."

"I know." Lavellan stood up from the table. "Let's get started."

He led her out into the garden behind the cabin, a small kitchen plot enclosed by flowering hedges and shadowed by heavy-laden fruit trees. The previous day's clouds had melted away into a clear blue sky. They sat down between neatly planted rows of vegetables, and Abelas reached for Lavellan's hand. "May I?" he asked her. "Physical contact might make this easier."

"Whatever it takes," she said, sounding strangely nervous.

Her fingers curled limply in his palm. He closed his eyes and enveloped her in his magic, searching for the Well within her. He found it in an instant, its ancient energies rippling and roiling just beneath the surface of her consciousness. Upon closer examination, he saw for the first time how truly unprepared she had been to claim it. In Elvhenan, the servants of Mythal had all been powerful mages. They had trained for decades to shape themselves into appropriate vessels, should they ever have been called upon to drink from the Well. Lavellan had done nothing of the sort. She was no mage, yet she contained the Well's knowledge without breaking under the strain of its power. Her survival alone proved the strength of her will. Anyone else in her position would have lost themselves inside it long ago, would have been reduced to a useless, empty shell. Her resilience, at least, was worthy of respect.

It came as no surprise that Lavellan had found the Well so baffling. Its knowledge would not have been cryptic or inaccessible to a properly trained sentinel; if its contents had been so inscrutable to its intended recipients, what would have been the point of preserving it? Lavellan's difficulty in accessing the _vir'abelasan_ was, in part, a natural defense against becoming overwhelmed by it. In every corner of her mind, Abelas sensed barriers and obstacles erected against the Well - some self-made, others seemingly shored up by some well-meaning mage. His heart sank as he grasped the extent of the obstructions. _She's not going to like this._

He withdrew and let go of her hand. "How bad is it?" she said quietly as she returned to full awareness of her surroundings.

There was no purpose in trying to cushion the blow. "Are you aware you are shielding yourself from the Well? You have probably never experienced its full power since you first drank."

"I had a feeling, yes. I know Solas did something to pacify it when he saw how it was affecting me. At the time I thought he was doing me a favor, but now…" Lavellan shrugged, her lip curling momentarily in a bitter sneer.

"You couldn't have known his intentions."

"That's what they all say."

Abelas shifted uncomfortably on the ground. _Stay on the subject of the Well_ , he told himself. He couldn't change the past, but he might be able to improve the present. "The barriers are a large part of what has prevented you from understanding the _vir'abelasan_. I believe I can remove them, but I'll need your help as well as your consent."

"I suppose I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"Do you think me so cruel as to force this upon you?"

"I'd hope not. But we're basically strangers, so how should I know if you're cruel or not, really? Your duty is to the Well, not to its vessel."

"Perhaps. But if you perish, so does the knowledge you have claimed."

"True," said Lavellan with a sigh. "I'm sorry. I know you're trying to help me. Trusting people is difficult right now. Especially someone like you."

Abelas wasn't sure what she meant. For the moment, he decided not to pry. "Do you want me to try taking the shields down or not?" he asked, irritated.

"That's why I came here," she said, and extended her hand to him again.

This time, his meditative state was difficult to recapture despite the calm of the garden. The confusing tangle of blocks and barriers Lavellan had erected only became more complicated and daunting the more he examined them. At last, he chose one ward essentially at random and cautiously picked it apart with his magic. Then he stopped, not wanting to go any further until he had seen the impact of his actions. "How do you feel?"

Lavellan considered the question, then shook her head. "No different."

"Try to commune with the Well. Is it any easier than before?"

For long moments, Lavellan concentrated. Suddenly, her eyes widened and her face lit up. She freed her hand from his and, with one finger, drew a nine-sided shape in the rich black dirt. "I saw this. It's so much clearer now. Do you know what it means?"

"No," says Abelas. "But it's a start." He didn't want to tell her that images involving multiples of nine represented the nine Creators, and thus were ubiquitous in the symbology favored by the servants of Mythal. What she had seen was so vague as to be meaningless.

Lavellan picked up on his reticence anyway. "What do you mean, it's a start? You told me you were going to remove the obstacles from my mind."

"I removed a small portion of the blockage, nothing more. I was unsure of what might happen if I eliminated it all at once. To expose you to such a risk would be unconscionable."

"You mean you don't want to expose the Well to such a risk."

Abelas's annoyance intensified. "That's one element of it, yes. The Well is a part of you."

"And I'm a part of _everything._ I'm not convinced you understand what's at stake here, Abelas. Fen'Harel wants to tear down the Veil. If he succeeds, it's the end of reality as we know it - you, me, the Well, and probably Mythal too."

"Indeed. I suspected as much when you told me he had returned."

"Then why the fuck didn't you dosomething about it?"

Uncontrollably, his anger flared. "Because I didn't know about it until you told me yesterday. Do you expect me to be omniscient? I am not. I am a servant of Mythal, nothing more."

"I know. You still could have joined the Inquisition when I offered you a place with it. If you had told us what you knew years ago, instead of making me track you down now, when everything I had is lost and dismantled-"

" _Making_ you track me down? How could I have done anything of the sort? Not everything revolves around you, Inquisitor. You don't command me."

"And what if I did?"

"You can't be serious."

"You're a servant of Mythal. I'm her vessel. What if I ordered you to remove everything shielding me from the Well's knowledge at once, in Mythal's name?"

"I would refuse."

"How can you-"

"You are _not_ my master, Inquisitor. Mythal alone commands me, and you are as much her servant as I am. Your demands do not compel me. It is ever as you said: my first duty is to the Well, not to its vessel. If you die or go mad without passing on its knowledge to future generations, I will have failed in my responsibilities. I will do what is best for the Well, whether you like it or not."

Lavellan glared at him, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly and furiously. Then she stood up, turned abruptly on her heel, and stalked out into the forest. "Lavellan," he called after her, but she neither responded nor slowed her brisk pace. He waited a while longer, but when she did not come back, he rose with a sigh and walked back into the cabin. She had not taken any of her possessions with her when she stormed out. Even if she truly intended to leave him, she would need to come back eventually for her gear if she planned on surviving her return journey.

It was late afternoon before she did, trudging up to the door and into the cabin. She was sweaty and flushed and wore a sheepish expression. "I'm sorry," she said.

Abelas was crouching next to the hearth, stirring a bubbling pot. He looked up at her, keeping his face impassive. "I accept your apology, though you need not offer it. You had ample reason to be frustrated."

"Maybe, but it doesn't excuse the way I acted. The more I thought about it, the more I understood your point of view. It wasn't about you at all."

"Then who was it about?" he asked, knowing he was prying.

"Myself, after a fashion." Lavellan knelt beside him on the sooty flagstones. "While I was with the Inquisition, I trusted somebody who betrayed me in the end. The secrets he kept from me would have made us enemies from the beginning, had I known them. You remind me of him. A lot. But it isn't fair for me to act as though the two of you are the same."

She'd said enough the day before for Abelas to grasp the subtext. "You mean Solas."

"Yes. I wonder sometimes if I was only ever a vessel for him, too, the same as I am for the Well. A means to an end, not a real person. His words told me differently, but his actions...I'm sorry. None of this is relevant. I don't know why I'm telling you. You have no reason to care."

"Of course I care." Hesitantly, experimentally, he rested a hand on her shoulder. "It's true, my first duty is to the Well. But your well-being matters, too."

"I want to believe you. But Solas never told me about his plans because he thought it would be kinder to keep me ignorant. He was very wrong. If he had wanted to be kind, he would have told me everything from the start, instead of letting me believe so many lies for so long. And when I thought you'd been trying to minimize how bad the blockages in my mind were...I can't go through that again, Abelas."

"I understand. I won't keep such things from you again. Not intentionally, anyway."

"Thank you." She smiled, weakly and faintly, in relief. "Should we get back to work, then?"

"Maybe later," said Abelas. He ladled soup from the pot into a bowl and handed it to Lavellan. "Let's eat first. There is plenty for both of us."


	4. Chapter 4

From that day forward, Abelas and Lavellan developed a routine of peaceful coexistence. They woke each morning with the sun, Abelas in his bed and Lavellan on the rug, and broke their fast together before going out to the garden to continue the slow, steady work of improving Lavellan's connection to the Well of Sorrows. They spent hours there together among the trees and the flowers and the vegetables, sitting silently hand in hand while he slowly dismantled the wards separating her from the _vir'abelasan_.

It was painstaking work. Abelas needed to pause after each blockage he cleared to ensure that the resulting flood of knowledge and memories was not more than Lavellan could bear. At times the changes he made affected her in ways neither of them could have anticipated. She might weep, or laugh uncontrollably, or become consumed with outrage at some unidentifiable slight, or go temporarily blank and unresponsive while she processed the sudden alterations to her psyche. At such times, Abelas could do nothing but patiently hold space for her until the storm of emotions had ceased and she could calm herself enough to describe what she had seen. So the task also represented a substantial investment of trust from both of them - a willingness to be vulnerable in front of a near-stranger for the sake of discovering the Well's hidden secrets.

As days stretched into weeks, Abelas began to catch deeper glimpses of Lavellan's thoughts and perceptions than he would have liked. It was unavoidable. Much of what he saw was fragmentary: fleeting impressions of battles, reconstructed conversations, or half-remembered emotions easily disregarded. Other memories demanded more of his attention. Dreams from her various incursions into the Fade frequently bubbled up from her subconscious, the images surreal and frightening and sometimes (to his silent embarrassment) oddly erotic. The traumatic loss of her arm had a way of intruding upon anything else in her mind without warning. Often she remembered the act of drinking from the Well and became lost once again in the turmoil of its varied voices. Many of her most ingrained and visceral recollections involved Solas in one way or another. He shied far away from those. By their outlines alone he knew they were even more intimate and personal than most. He would let her tell such stories on her own terms, if she chose to tell them to him at all.

By far the hardest images to let go of were the times Lavellan's thoughts touched on Abelas himself. He knew she respected his abilities, but did she consider him as anything more than a useful tool? And why should he care so much whether she did? Some days, she was entirely open to him, eager to gain his friendship. On others, she was closed-off and resentful of the way the Well had forced her to rely upon him. He did his best to discreetly ignore it all. It would be impolite to form an opinion about her based upon the things she had not consciously chosen to share. He would judge her by her actions and her words instead.

Sometimes Abelas's magic caused little unrest within Lavellan, and they continued clearing channels for the _vir'abelasan_ long into the evening. But more often than not, by noon they had encountered something so complex or so jarring that they both deemed it best to stop for the day. In those cases, the two of them spent the rest of the daylight hours maintaining the cabin and its environs. Abelas handled the most physically intense and time-consuming tasks with magic, while Lavellan assisted him in weeding and harvesting the garden, preparing meals, and dealing with the locals who still occasionally dropped by in search of advice and magical assistance that Abelas was increasingly disinclined to offer.

By night, the cabin became a cozy, fire-lit bubble, a private sanctuary entirely divorced from the outside world. Abelas sat at his rough-hewn wooden table, reading books and scrolls he'd acquired from the nearby towns in an ongoing attempt to catch up with all the history he'd missed while he languished in _uthenera_. Lavellan sat cross-legged on the floor as she went through a nightly regimen of stretches meant to keep the muscles in what remained of her left arm from binding up and atrophying. He wondered if she realized how often he watched her out of the corner of his eye. They rarely made small talk or chattered about themselves, and he knew relatively little about her outside of the things he had unavoidably glimpsed within her mind. Yet with each passing day, his respect for her persistence and resilience grew. He felt himself softening to her, and began to ask himself whether their arrangement might ever develop into something more than a convenient, temporary alliance. But Lavellan kept the bulk of her focus on the Well, and her interactions with him cordial were but distant. Perhaps he could broach the topic of friendship with her after they had solved the immediate problem at hand.

At last, one morning, their efforts paid off. Abelas had just finished untangling another snarl from Lavellan's consciousness when, without warning, she leapt to her feet and cried out. He broke the connection immediately. "Are you-"

"I'm fine." She sounded both distracted and excited. "I think I understand what I saw now."

"Really?"

By way of response, Lavellan drew in the dirt, outlining the same nine-sided shape she had sketched on the first day. "The voices of the Well finally explained themselves. What they were showing me earlier - it's some sort of large portal into the Fade. Or at least it can become one, under certain conditions. Mythal's servants built it after Arlathan fell. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was intended as some sort of failsafe, or an exit to be used in an emergency? It's not important. Anyway, do the words _Vir Athemah_ mean anything to you?"

"It's a location," said Abelas. "A region in the Arbor Wilds, a few days' travel from here. Some of the Elvhen settled there in the aftermath of Arlathan's fall, before they were driven out by Tevinter. To my knowledge, no one has lived there for centuries."

"Makes sense. The Well must be trying to warn me that the portal I saw is in the Vir Athemah, and that Fen'Harel's agents may be trying to take control of it. You said this place is nearby? Perhaps we should investigate."

"'Nearby' is a relative term. This is not an easy stroll down a paved highway. We would be traveling through thick jungle, facing any number of hazards. Isn't this sort of reconnaissance better left to what remains of the Inquisition?"

"You overestimate our reach, Abelas. The last time we made an incursion into the Arbor Wilds, we needed an army to make any progress. We don't have that kind of power anymore. Even if we did, I have no idea how to get to this place. Only you do."

"You may have a point. But even if the Inquisition is weakened, surely any resources it can bring to bear will be better than nothing?"

"I would agree with you if it weren't for one thing: time. It's been more than two months since the Well began sending me these warnings. I'd need a bird to send this news to my allies, and I don't have one. It would take more than a week to bring word back to them in person, and even longer to get back here and find the Vir Athemah after that. By then, Fen'Harel's agents may have already made their move. I'm not saying that if we _do_ find his forces there, we should face them without backup. But we should at least scout the place and figure out what's going on."

Her choice of pronoun was not lost on him. "And you expect me to accompany you?"

"I can't get there on my own, can I?"

Abelas sighed. As much as he had come to like Lavellan as an individual, he had not yet decided whether he truly wanted to support her in her crusade against Fen'Harel. More than that, he didn't want to leave his solitude behind. He was acutely aware of how much power he held in this matter. Indeed, her plans could not go forward without his assistance. All he had to do was refuse to tell her what he knew, and she would likely depart to reunite with her allies and never trouble him again. But what would it profit him to deny her? For all that Lavellan had never been meant to possess the knowledge of the Well, her desire to make the most of its existence and to use its power for good was undeniable. Could he turn his back on her now and still claim to embody Mythal's perfect justice? Should he not continue to make the most of the circumstances fate had given him, imperfect as they were?

"Very well," he said. "I'll show you the way in the morning." Lavellan's warm and grateful smile was a reward he hadn't known he desired.

They spent the remainder of the day readying themselves for the journey, assembling their supplies for the wilderness and preparing the cabin for an extended absence. That night, as Lavellan settled down in front of the fireplace for what might be the last time, their bags lying neatly packed at her feet, a sudden flush of shame seized Abelas. Had he really spent all these weeks comfortable and cozy in bed without ever considering her needs? It might be too late to set right what he had overlooked, but at the very least he would try. "Lavellan?"

"What?" she said, rolling over.

"You've been sleeping on the floor every night. It isn't fair. Would you prefer the bed?"

"That's a kind offer, Abelas, but I wouldn't want to inconvenience you. Besides, this rug is much softer than anywhere I ever slept when I was growing up with the Dalish."

"It's no inconvenience," he said. He made his next offer before he could second-guess it, unsure of what had brought it to mind in the first place. "Or we could share the bed."

She sat up slowly, silhouetted by the dying embers of the fire. Her expression was unreadable, and her response was the last one he expected. "Very well."

He inched over to one side and pulled back the covers as she got up and crossed to the bed. The wooden frame creaked as she slipped beneath the quilt and lay down with her back to him. Her weight beside him on the mattress was somehow comforting, and it felt strangely natural to put his arm around her. "Nice," she said sleepily as she burrowed farther beneath the covers. Soon she was asleep, breathing softly and steadily, leaving Abelas awake to wonder why her nearness was suddenly so distracting. But eventually, he drowsed off too, enveloped within the shared warmth of their bodies to join her in deep and dreamless slumber.


	5. Chapter 5

They departed for the Vir Athemah early the next morning. The trip there, as Abelas had explained to Lavellan while they packed the day before, would be difficult but not impossible. When Elvhenan fell and the world's magic weakened beneath the smothering weight of the Veil, the Elvhen had also lost access to the eluvians that had once linked every corner of their civilization. The refugees had thus been forced to build roads in order to travel safely through the untouched forest. The roads were unmaintained and long overgrown, but walking on them would still be easier than blazing a new trail every step of the way.

The course of one such highway ran within a few hours' hike of the cabin. Abelas led Lavellan to it, and then the real journey began. The broad cobblestones of the road had weathered the ages well thanks to the undiminished potency of the magic imbuing them. Nevertheless, the path was choked with brush, and sometimes all but buried beneath fallen branches and rotting vegetation. They took turns in the lead, Lavellan hacking through the overgrown foliage with her sword, Abelas clearing the way with quick, focused bursts of air magic. It was tedious, tiring work for both of them, and their progress was slower than either of them would have liked.

They traveled south, into the wilderness, into the jungle. The land around Abelas's cabin represented the last small region of temperate forest before the damp, humid climate of an old growth rainforest took over. Here, the shadowed road wound its way between massive, canopied trees tall enough to plunge everything beneath them into perpetual twilight. Enormous ferns and entangling vines constantly encroached upon the path. Everything teemed with animal life: strange insects, scurrying rodents and small primates, brightly colored birds. Numerous craggy stone outcroppings, protruding seemingly at random from the black soil of the forest floor, interrupted the thick foliage. They could just as easily have been natural rock formations as the aftermath of some long-ago war between the Elvhen.

They had been traveling in relative silence for the better part of the day when Lavellan surprised him by speaking. "Were you born around here, Abelas?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I've been living with you for more than a month now, but I hardly know anything about you. Is it so wrong to be curious?"

"No. It isn't. But I don't see why you would care."

She turned toward him, frowning, and said softly, "You really mean that."

"Yes?"

"It's not so unthinkable that someone might want to be your friend, you know."

Abelas cleared his throat and looked away from her. In truth, he couldn't remember the last time anyone had wanted to get to know him at all. To the humans who lived near his cabin, he had been an enigma and an occasional trading partner; to his fellow sentinels, a comrade but not a friend; to Mythal, a servant and a tool. Although he had often considered making overtures of friendship toward Lavellan, now that she had beaten him to it he did not know how to respond. "I'm sorry," he said, and hoped she would understand why he felt he had to apologize. "In response to your question, no, I was not. I had my upbringing in what the humans would now call the Anderfels. I was stationed here much later, after I swore myself to Mythal. Distance had a different meaning in those days."

"Was this before the Veil, then?"

"Yes, but just barely. I was a young man when Fen'Harel's rebellion began. It's strange - I suppose I was born into the last generation of elves to be blessed with immortality."

"You don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but...what was it like? Being there when everything changed."

"It's hard to describe. Life before the Veil is impossible to put into words. Language itself didn't even work the way it did now."

"Solas always said that in Arlathan, doing magic was second nature for everyone."

"It was."

"He made it sound like some kind of paradise. I suppose that was a lie, wasn't it?"

"More an oversimplification than a lie, really. The Evanuris were tyrants. We all knew it, even if most of us didn't want to admit it to ourselves. I, however, was not willing to blind myself to their crimes. It was why I chose to enter Mythal's service even before they murdered her. I believed she was the only being who could bring justice to the world."

"What happened after she died? Did the servants of Mythal take Fen'Harel's side?"

"No. Our first duty was to preserve what was left of her, not avenge her death. We retreated to places like the temple you found me in and defended them with our lives. When the Veil went up and we saw what it would do, most of us sealed the temples and entered _uthenera_ rather than stay awake to watch the fall of Elvhenan."

"That must have been very difficult."

"I try not to think about it," he said quietly. "But what about you? Where were you born?"

"Among the Dalish, as you know. In the Free Marches."

"Did you enjoy it there?"

"For most of my life, I didn't know I could be anywhere different. I knew the rest of Thedas _existed_ , of course, but the cities were as good as deathtraps for an elf and I didn't dare brave the wilderness alone. It wasn't until my Keeper heard about the Divine Conclave and decided to send me as a spy that I got to experience much of anything else."

"What was that like for you?"

"Pretty strange at first, but before long…"

From then on, Abelas and Lavellan no longer walked together in silence. Their arduous trek through the forest was now accompanied by near-continuous conversation. Lavellan spoke of growing up Dalish and of her time with the Inquisition; Abelas, of the last days of Elvhenan and of life in Mythal's service. He had expected her to eventually ask about his past, inquisitive as she was about history and her own elven heritage. He had not expected to balk so little at telling it all to her, or to find her own brief mortal existence fascinating in its own right.

They had been traveling and talking for four days when the landscape around them began to change again. The rocks peppering the ground became larger, more frequent, and less natural in appearance. "These are the ruins of ancient Elvhen buildings," said Abelas when Lavellan inquired about the stone monoliths. "The refugees constructed them when they tried to settle the Vir Athemah. We are very close to the place of power the Well was trying to show you."

"I doubt we'll get there today," said Lavellan, scowling up at the overcast sky. "It's going to storm." She was right; a hard insistent wind was rustling the leaves of the trees around them, and a light rain had already begun to fall.

They hiked through the steadily increasing drizzle until Abelas spotted an ancient building intact enough to provide shelter. Much of its structure had crumbled to dust long ago, but enough of its marble walls and vaulted ceiling remained to offer a dry place to wait out the rain. He waved his hand and kindled a fire in a long-cold hearth, and they stripped off their sodden outerwear and laid it out to dry on the cracked stones. When thunder began to roll in the distance, he cast another spell to shield the ruin from lightning strikes. "Not as comfortable as my cabin," he said jokingly, "but it will do."

"It will," said Lavellan. Wearing a dissatisfied expression, she pulled her sword from its scabbard and tested its edge. " _Fenedhis_ , that's dull. I guess I should have expected it after hacking through the jungle, right?"

She dug in the depths of her pack and pulled out a greasy rag, a whetstone, and a small pot of oil. Then she cast her gaze around the ruined building until she spotted a knee-high pile of rubble and began trying to wedge the hilt of her sword between the rocks. "May I help you?" Abelas blurted out after the weapon clattered to the ground for the fifth time.

"I'd rather handle my own sword," she said gruffly. He bit back the retort he had already been formulating - _I know enchantments that can sharpen your blade in an eyeblink and keep it perfectly honed, and I could cast them even faster than you could maintain this weapon with both your hands_ \- and instead busied himself with slicing and peeling the tropical fruits they had foraged as they walked. Lavellan was far from helpless. He would do well not to treat her as if she were.

Even so, he cast occasional glances toward her until he saw that she had managed to stabilize the sword well enough to run the whetstone along it one-handed, then wipe it down and oil the blade. "Good enough," she muttered as she sheathed it again. Tired yet satisfied, she crossed to the hearth and gratefully accepted a bowl of cut-up fruit from Abelas's waiting hands. They ate in silence, listening to the rain. When Lavellan was finished, she winced as she set her empty dish down on the ground.

"Is something wrong?" asked Abelas.

"My shoulder. Nothing I'm not accustomed to. It gets really sore sometimes, since I have to use my right arm for everything now."

"I can imagine so. Would it help if I massaged it?"

"Yes. I think it would."

Abelas sat down behind Lavellan and breathed magic into his cupped hands to warm them. He kneaded the tight muscles of her shoulders, paying special attention to her right side. "Oh, yes, wonderful," she said gratefully. And then, a few minutes later: "Can I ask you a question?"

"Isn't that what you've been doing for the past several days?"

"Yes, but this is different. More personal. Maybe."

"You may ask. I won't promise an answer."

"Fair enough." To his astonishment, she turned to face him, reached out a fleeting hand, and touched the fine tracery of tattoos on his brow and temples. "Your _vallaslin_. When did you get them, and why? What do they mean to you?"

"I took them when I entered Mythal's service. They are an outward physical sign of the devotion I swore to her."

"Did she demand them of you?"

"No. I was in training to become a sentinel when she died. She was gone - or so I believed - when I made my oaths to protect her temple and preserve the knowledge it held. I suppose they were a reminder of the duty we yet bore to her memory. In a way, her death made our work even more important, since she herself was no longer able to protect the _vir'abelasan_."

"So they weren't slave markings for you, then."

"For others, they were, but not for us. We reclaimed them for our own purposes." Abelas's brow furrowed as he considered her question more deeply. "How do you know this? I thought the Dalish had forgotten the origins of the _vallaslin_."

"We did," Lavellan said in a near-whisper. "Solas corrected me."

"I see." _It makes sense - if she and Solas spoke as much as she says they did, the subject of the_ vallaslin _must have come up eventually. And there's more to this story, too._ "You had _vallaslin_ when I first saw you at the Temple of Mythal. Now you do not. Am I to assume Solas removed them?"

She gave a single, curt nod. "It happened not long after we met you, actually. He told me what they used to mean and said it was my choice if I kept them. I thought removing them would prove I was no one's slave. Mythal had other ideas."

Abelas chuckled. "Fen'Harel never could stand to see anyone under another's thumb, even if he only assumed they were in bondage. He never understood how anyone might choose to serve another freely - unless they were serving Fen'Harel himself, of course. I take it he wanted you for a follower?"

"I loved him."

At first he wondered if he had misheard her, until he saw the grimness of her face and the faint mist of tears in her eyes. He could think of nothing to say beyond, "I'm sorry."

"So am I." Lavellan drew in a deep, shaky breath. "The worst of it is, I know he loved me too. His stupid mission just got in the way. He left me right after the temple, did you know? He took my faith in the gods, took my _vallaslin_ , made sure I could never go back to what I'd been. He even took my arm, later on, when the Anchor his magic put there started killing me. I know I have to stop him. I know I can never go back to what we had. But, fool that I am, there's a part of me that still loves him despite it all."

"You aren't a fool," Abelas said firmly. He extended one finger and traced the path of her missing _vallaslin_ along the soft blank skin of her face. "You've suffered a great loss. You are stronger now because of it. I've never been especially strong, but I do know a few things about loss."

"I don't know about the first part of that," she said, giving him a slight smile. "You're here with me, aren't you?"

He needed a moment to register her mouth pressing against his in a gentle, experimental kiss. It took another moment for him to accept how much he was enjoying it. When she pulled away, it was only by an act of will that he did not chase her lips. "Oh," she said. A faint blush rose to her cheeks. "I didn't mean to-"

Before Abelas could think better of it, he took Lavellan by the shoulders and pulled her into another kiss, deeper and more urgent this time. "I meant _that_ ," he said when they had broken apart, and she grinned and reached for him once more.

She kissed him like a woman who had something to forget, as if the pressure of his mouth and the dart of his tongue were casting a spell to erase her pain. Yet Abelas could not forget what she'd just said about loving Solas. Did she cling to him as a convenient surrogate for someone she could not have? But when Lavellan straddled him and began to slowly roll her hips against his, he decided he didn't particularly care who she might imagine him to be tonight.

She was gripping his neck so tightly with her single arm that he couldn't slip his hand between their bodies like he wanted to. He trailed his lips along the side of her face, nibbled at the sensitive pointed tip of her ear until she moaned, then whispered, "May I touch you?"

"Oops," said Lavellan. She shifted in his lap, provoking a gasp from both of them, then promptly tipped over backwards when she let go of him. He caught her before she could fall to the ground, snaking one of his arms around her waist to support her. "Sorry. Thank you. And yes. Please. I guess I'm kind of clumsy. I haven't done this since before I lost my arm."

 _And I haven't done this in several thousand years,_ thought Abelas. With his free hand, he stroked her breasts and her trembling stomach. Encountering no resistance, he loosened the lacings of her trousers and slipped his fingers inside her smallclothes, inside the warm slick heat of her. He continued to hold her up as she rode his hand, her movements hesitant and awkward at first, then gaining greater force and confidence as her eyes closed involuntarily and her breathing hitched and her pleasure mounted.

He was distantly aware of his own arousal, throbbing and insistent between his legs. When she shifted her weight slightly in his lap, her thigh began to rub his crotch. He wasn't sure if her positioning was intentional or inadvertent; regardless, he found himself rutting gratefully and urgently against her. His climax was sudden and forceful and caught him completely off-guard, and he almost dropped Lavellan as he shuddered in its throes. Moments later she was joining him, first arching her back, then pressing her face into the place where his neck met his shoulder as her movements slowed and then stilled.

When Lavellan was finished, when she had regained her balance, Abelas took his hand away. She exhaled heavily and smiled. "Let me return the favor," she murmured, reaching for his breeches. He flinched away, oversensitive to her touch, and she frowned in confusion until she realized what had happened. "Oh. You already - um. I didn't - Are you-?"

"I am well, thank you," he said, looking at the ground as he cleaned himself and his clothing with a quick, muttered spell.

"Good. But I should probably be thanking you instead." She kissed him again, swiftly and affectionately, then yawned and said, "I think I'll turn in for the night."

"As will I."

They spread their bedrolls out next to each other near the dimming fire. When Abelas wrapped his arms around Lavellan as she lay down, she didn't roll away. Soon she was asleep, resting warm and limp beside him. But sleep eluded him, and for much of the night he stared out into the darkness, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Perhaps in the morning he would understand what it all meant.


	6. Chapter 6

Lavellan got up before Abelas the next morning. By the time he woke, she had already finished packing up most of the camp. The rain had stopped, and the clouds had cleared, and she seemed eager to be on the way again. She acted as if nothing had changed between them as they prepared breakfast and gathered up the last of their supplies together. Perhaps, in her view, nothing had.

They hiked in silence for the better part of the morning, speaking only to warn each other of danger or to point out the best route. It was for the best. He didn't know what to say to her anyway. Instead, he focused his attention on the terrain around them. The road here was less overgrown and, in some spots, even showed signs of recent maintenance. Civilization, of a sort, encroached. They were drawing nearer to the Vir Athemah. He wondered what, if anything, they would find there.

Around midday, Lavellan stopped abruptly in her tracks. Abelas nearly collided with her. "Do you hear that?" she asked in a whisper.

Abelas paused, listened closely, and thought he heard something scurrying around in the underbrush nearby. "Yes. An animal is crossing our path. Nothing more."

"Doesn't sound like any animal I've heard out here yet." Her eyes widened, and she pointed at a patch of rustling foliage at the side of the road. "Look. Something's coming."

Abelas had never seen anything like the creature emerging from amidst the thick ferns: a giant millipede, as thick around as a small tree trunk and so long that its back end was still hidden by vegetation. Its glossy, segmented black exoskeleton undulated as its dozens of feet propelled it rapidly forward. "Intriguing," he said.

Conversely, Lavellan made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat and tried to hastily sidestep the insect. It turned its head toward her, long feelers groping blindly in her direction. A profound sense of wrongness suddenly seized him. "Lavellan…" he said in a tone of warning.

"I know. This isn't right. Just let me get around it and - ow!" The millipede had lashed out with its sharp mandibles and bitten her in the calf. She yelped and wheeled around, drawing her sword. She was clearly out of practice in combat, and made a slow, clumsy swing that sent her stumbling off-balance. But there was real power behind the blow, and it landed at the center of the insect's abdomen and chopped the creature cleanly in half.

"Are you badly hurt?" Abelas stepped over the still-twitching millipede and knelt down to inspect Lavellan's injury. She wore no armor beyond a light leather breastplate, and the millipede's bite had penetrated the thick cloth of her trousers, leaving the fabric ripped and slightly bloody.

"No. It mostly itches. _Fenedhis_ , I hope it wasn't venomous."

He was about to tell her he could counteract its bite with a simple spell, but before he could speak the woods around them came alive with louder, more intense scrabbling. Two more giant millipedes scurried out into the road, heading directly toward Lavellan. Abelas readied his staff, aimed it at the creatures, and strafed them with a sustained blast of magical fire that incinerated them both. The fire also seared away the concealing ferns, revealing many more of the oversized insects aggressively approaching. "Perhaps we should run now," said Abelas.

"Agreed."

They moved as quickly as they were able, impeded by the weight of their packs. Abelas risked a glance over his shoulder and saw at least a half-dozen millipedes in pursuit. Lavellan saw them too. "They're gaining on us," she said, huffing and puffing. "What do we do?"

"I don't know." He was taller and stronger than Lavellan and possessed greater stamina, and he knew he could easily outpace her if he tried. He briefly considered sprinting away to draw the insects off her trail. But he just as quickly discarded the thought when he noticed how the millipedes' antennae were pointed inexorably toward her. _They have a taste for her now. If I flee, they'll ignore me._ "Any ideas?"

"None," she said. "Unless you think they might have a problem crossing water?" Indeed, a swiftly flowing stream was audible just ahead.

"It's worth a try. Let's go."

They plunged into the jungle, leaving the road behind for the moment. There was no time to clear a path with blade or magic, and their pace necessarily slowed as they stepped over gnarled tree roots and ducked under branches and vines. The sound of the millipedes' feet faded away behind them, and for a while Abelas allowed himself to believe they had escaped. But when the leaves behind them began to rustle again, he knew he was wrong.

Soon they reached the muddy banks of the stream. It ran through a deeply carved and winding ravine, and was broader than he had imagined. The turbulent, rushing water was too far down to dive into safely without knowing more about its depth and the state of its bottom, and it was too broad for either one of them to leap across. The millipedes were getting closer. "Unhelpful, I'm afraid," he said.

"Not so fast," said Lavellan. She pointed at a downed, decaying tree trunk several yards away. It looked unstable to say the least, but its length conveniently spanned from one bank to the other. "How's your balance?"

"Good enough to get me to the other side. Will you make it?"

"I have to, don't I? Let's go before I lose my nerve."

They hurried over to the makeshift bridge, their feet slipping and sinking in the mud. With some reluctance, Abelas went first. He crossed as quickly as he could safely manage, holding his staff horizontally in front of him for balance. The trunk creaked and shuddered alarmingly when he stepped too heavily on it, and he nearly lost his footing in a few particularly rotten spots, but he made it to the opposite side unscathed.

Dozens of millipedes were emerging from the forest now, searching and all too ready to resume their attack. Lavellan took a deep breath and stepped out onto the tree trunk. She moved much more slowly than Abelas had, staring at her feet and choosing each step deliberately. Her stability was hindered both by her injured leg and by the absence of her arm. But despite a few terrifying wobbles that sent his stomach plummeting, she kept her balance and staggered safely to the opposite side.

Abelas wasted no time in covering their retreat. He touched the tip of his staff to the log bridge and sent fire coursing through it. Within the span of a few heartbeats it had blow away in large clumps of cinders. The millipedes scuttled around aimlessly on the far bank, unable to give chase. "Nice work," said Lavellan. "What's next?"

"I should tend to your wounds before anything else."

"It's a scratch, Abelas. It's not worth slowing down for."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. You can take a look at it when we stop for the night, if you want. For now, we should keep moving. Can we pick up the road again on this side of the stream?"

"I'm not convinced it matters if we can. Any major temples or settlements of the Vir Athemah would likely have been constructed close to a waterway. At this point we are well within what was once the refugees' domain. We should follow the stream and see where it takes us. I suspect it will bring us to the same place the roads would."

"Good idea. Lead the way."

They resumed hiking, hugging the banks of the stream in order to avoid breaking a new trail through the jungle. They were both on their guard now, vigilant against any unusual sounds or sights in the environment, and for a time all conversation ceased. Eventually, however, Lavellan said, "What do you think was going on back there? I've never seen insects act like that."

"Their actions were much more purposeful than normal for such animals. I don't necessarily believe they were intelligent, but if not, they must have been commanded by someone or something that is."

"Hmm. Troubling, to say the least."

"Yes - but also promising."

"What do you mean?"

"You wanted to determine whether Fen'Harel's agents were active in the Vir Athemah. Judging by the open roads and the guardian animals, _someone_ is. This place is worthy of further investigation. We were right to come here."

"I'm glad you saw the light eventually," said Lavellan with a teasing smirk. "Now all we have to do is figure out who settled-"

Her words dissolved into a sudden scream, and she vanished from view. The ground beneath her feet had abruptly given way. It was a pit trap, he realized, a deep hole concealed by downed branches and a few clever illusions. Without thinking, he leapt in after her, instinctively casting a spell to slow his descent. He landed lightly in a crouch at the bottom of the hole. Next to him, Lavellan groaned as she picked herself up out of the mud. "What the fuck?"

"It's a trap," said Abelas. "This isn't natural."

"Yes, I figured that out. I meant why did you jump in behind me?"

"I could hardly just leave you here."

"You could have pulled me up from outside the pit! How did you know there weren't spikes at the bottom or something?"

"If there had been, you would have needed my assistance even more. At any rate, this trap was not intended to kill, but to capture." He gestured at the soft ground and its cushion of thick layers of dried ferns and palm fronds.

"That's not very comforting. How are we going out of here now?"

"I can take us both to freedom with a Fade step, if you'll allow me." Abelas extended one arm, and Lavellan immediately moved to stand beside him, pressing her flank against his. _At least she understands the theory already,_ he thought, even as he tried to ignore how his heartbeat quickened at the nearness of her body.

He took a moment to calm and center himself, then cast his spell. The magic easily propelled them up and out of the pit in a rapid rush of wind, until they were standing together several feet away from its rim. "Um," said Lavellan.

"What's wrong?" asked Abelas.

Then he noticed the half-dozen elves surrounding them with bows and arrows fully drawn.


	7. Chapter 7

Abelas and Lavellan surrendered immediately. There was no point in pretending the archers had not had them dead to rights the instant they emerged from the pit trap. Their captors confiscated their weapons and supplies, bound their hands with rope, and marched them through the jungle at a brisk and tireless pace. Abelas stole constant glances at Lavellan, worried that the injury to her leg might cause her to stumble, but she betrayed no sign of weakness. _Good._

Soon they reached a half-ruined village - undoubtedly one of the abandoned settlements of the Vir Athemah. The elves who had taken them prisoner appeared to have established a fairly permanent encampment there. Smoke curled out of crumbled chimneys, and oilcloth and fresh thatching patched the collapsing roofs of the houses and common buildings. Abelas counted at least two dozen inhabitants in the camp as he was ushered through, all of them elves and all of them devoid of _vallaslin_. Most of them regarded the prisoners with open hostility. The _vir'abelasan_ had been right, then. The agents of Fen'Harel were here, and in great numbers.

An unearthly chill ran down his spine as they passed a large central building - the tallest in the village, topped by an enormous and improbably intact marble dome. He could read the contours of the powerful, ancient magic that saturated its stones without even needing to open his senses to it. Nothing else could have preserved such a structure. It had to be important.

Lavellan noticed it too. "Nine sides," she said under her breath, and he saw she was correct. Was this what the Well had been trying to show her?

Their captors untied them and ushered them into a hut so decrepit as to be almost entirely exposed to the elements. An elf dressed in an apostate's rags traced a sigil in the air beneath the splintered lintel and cast a barrier around the building. Abelas was the stronger mage, and knew he could easily defeat the spell even without his staff - but to do so would draw the attention of the guards posted a few yards away, leading to a fight he wasn't sure they would win. For the moment it was best to accept captivity.

"What do you want from us?" Lavellan asked the mage as he lowered his staff.

"That's for our leader to decide," he said brusquely, and walked away.

"Leader?" said Abelas in alarm, when the mage was out of earshot. "Does he mean-?"

"Fen'Harel himself? No." Lavellan's voice was low and grim. "If he were here, he would have come for me already."

"To kill you, or…?"

"I wish I knew."

Abelas cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably on the hard ground. "I should take a look at that bite on your leg now," he said.

"If you must."

He rolled up the hem of her trousers and inspected Lavellan's injury. The bleeding had stopped and the punctures had scabbed over, but the skin around the wound was red, inflamed, and hot to the touch. "It's becoming infected," he said. "Hold still. I can treat it."

Abelas gripped Lavellan's calf with one hand and her ankle in the other and sent a slender trickle of healing energy into her body. One of the guards must have been a mage, because immediately she called out, "Stop casting spells in there."

"My companion was bitten by one of your guardian animals," said Abelas. "I am treating the wound. Nothing more."

"Very well," said the guard. "But I'm watching you."

Lavellan leaned her head close to Abelas's, so their faces were nearly touching. "I have no idea how we get out of here," she said in a whisper too soft to be overheard by others. "Do you?"

He shook his head. "There are too many of them to fight our way out. If you plan to escape, we will have to use stealth."

"You may be right. But I hate to leave without figuring out what these people are planning."

"Information is no good if we don't escape with our lives."

"I know. But I don't want to rush to a decision just yet. Let's watch and wait."

"I agree."

Unfortunately, there was little to see. The agents of Fen'Harel were wise enough to conduct any potentially incriminating activity far away from the hut. Nothing happened to break the monotony of captivity until late afternoon, when an unfamiliar elven woman approached the barrier and dismissed the guards. She was tall and broad-shouldered and brown-skinned, wore ragged Chantry robes, and clutched an ornate iron staff in one hand. "Former Inquisitor Lavellan," she said in a Fereldan-accented voice. "I was warned your people might come here. Even so, I never imagined you would visit me in person."

"You have me at a disadvantage," said Lavellan calmly. "You are…?"

"Call me Marin," the woman said.

"Am I to assume you're in charge of Fen'Harel's agents here?"

"You assume correctly. I also heard you were too clever for your own good. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised my traps and guardians failed to keep you away."

"Whoever gave you all these warnings about me can't seem to decide whether he wants to fight me or compliment me, does he?"

Abelas cleared his throat, discomfited on several levels. "Did you come here just to taunt us, or was there something you wanted?"

"I know who you are too, Abelas," said Marin, fixing him with a steady and discerning gaze. "The last living servant of Mythal - apart from Lavellan, of course. The things you must have witnessed in Arlathan...I had to seize the opportunity to see you for myself."

"Just kill us and get it over with," Lavellan said flatly.

Marin chuckled. "I've come to do no such thing."

"Are you sure? I know what you and your people are trying to do here, Marin. I know about Mythal's secret portal in the Vir Athemah. You're trying to take control of it and open a new passageway into the Fade, for Fen'Harel's use alone. I don't know exactly what he would intend to do with a stable Fade portal. Nothing good, I'm sure. Does this sound familiar?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Marin, shifting her weight uncomfortably and casting her gaze around the hut. _A good guess on Lavellan's part,_ Abelas thought appreciatively.

"Sure you don't," said Lavellan. "Deny it all you like, but it won't change anything about what happens to you when my friends come to rescue me." She was bluffing, of course, but she asserted her claim with such conviction that Marin might just believe it.

Marin laughed. "You presume I intend to imprison you here indefinitely? This is a stop along your way, Lavellan. As I said, I wanted to see the great Inquisitor for myself before I informed Fen'Harel of your capture. Your fate is up to him, not me."

Tension and fear settled in Lavellan's posture as she imagined facing Fen'Harel again. _She isn't ready for this confrontation, in more ways than one_. "You are a fool to follow the Dread Wolf, Marin," said Abelas. "His goals do not align with yours."

"You don't even know what my goals are," said Marin.

"You're right - but I don't have to. If his plans succeed, they will harm the entire world."

"Of course you would say so. I have no reason to believe you."

"What if we could prove it?" Lavellan said quietly.

Marin went entirely still, her eyes glittering intently in the dark. "You wish to tell me falsehoods meant to sway me from my path."

"Spoken like a true follower of Fen'Harel," Abelas said sarcastically.

"Ridiculous," Marin scoffed. "You would say anything to save yourself."

"Perhaps so," said Lavellan. "But you'll never be able to determine if it's true for yourself if you won't hear what we have to say."

At first, Marin said nothing. Abelas knew Lavellan's strategy was the best and only option. Marin's curiosity had already overwhelmed her common sense by coming to talk to her prisoners and to give them an opening to sway her in the first place. Lavellan must have hoped it extended to wanting to hear another side of the story. "I cannot make such a decision alone," she said at last. "I must consult the others. I will return in the morning." She turned briskly on her heel and vanished into the night, leaving Abelas hoping that Lavellan's efforts had been enough.


	8. Chapter 8

As soon as Marin was gone, Lavellan motioned Abelas closer to her. "We need to talk," she whispered in his ear. Abelas nodded. He had no idea how she intended to convince Marin not to hand them over to Fen'Harel, and he needed to understand her plan.

He extended one finger and let a subtle thread of magic trickle out of it, weaving a spell so unobtrusive that the mages guarding the hut would not be able to detect it. It formed a powerful yet imperceptible dome just beneath the confines of the barrier. His enchantment would dampen any sound within the hut and prevent the guards from hearing them. Then he lay down on the ground and motioned for her to lie next to him, so anyone peering inside would believe them both to be asleep. "There," he said. "Now tell me what you're thinking."

Lavellan stared into his eyes, her brow wrinkled, her lips squeezed together in a narrow nervous line. He was strangely tempted to kiss her again until her features relaxed into contentment, even though he knew it would not free them from this place. "Do you trust me?" she asked.

"Yes." His reply was instantaneous, requiring no consideration at all. After everything they had been through together, how could he do otherwise?

"Here's the thing. Marin will never believe anything we tell her. She's interested in us, but she's suspicious of us too."

"Can you blame her?"

"No. What I'm saying is, we won't sway her to our side with words alone. We need to give her proof. We need _you_ \- and we need the Well of Sorrows, too."

The skin on the back of his neck prickled with dread. He had meant it when he said he trusted her, but _this…_ "What are you proposing?"

"You lived through the aftermath of Fen'Harel's rebellion. You know first-hand what he's capable of. Even _I_ don't know that, not really." Lavellan let out a joyless laugh. "But I do have the Well. Mythal's servants remember things neither of us could possibly know. If I can access their memories, and you can manage and direct the Well with your magic, we can show her what will happen to this world and its people if Fen'Harel succeeds. If the _vir'abelasan_ itself won't convince her, nothing will."

"To do this, I would have to project the memories directly into her mind. What makes you think she will allow it?"

"I don't know if she will. But what other choice do we have?"

"To let her take us to Fen'Harel and plan an escape from there?"

"No," she said before he was even finished speaking. "I won't go back to him. Not now. I know I'll have to face him someday. But like this...I can't. Please don't ask me to do that, Abelas."

"I won't. But what you are asking of me…"

"I know."

"I'm not sure you do. What you are proposing is similar to the process by which the servants of Mythal gave their knowledge to the _vir'abelasan_ at the end of their lives. Those who share such communion hold back nothing from each other. Under the circumstances, I believe I can mitigate the extent of what is revealed, so we will not overwhelm one another with irrelevancies."

"Or give away all our secrets."

"Yes. But the connection will still be...intimate. Unusually so."

"This hardly seems like a time to be prudish. I'm willing to do it. Are you?"

Abelas hesitated. Joining minds with Marin did not give him pause. If telling her his story would prevent the greater tragedy of Fen'Harel's victory, so be it. But Lavellan...In all the time he had spent untangling the snarls that had kept her from the Well's power, the connection between them had always flowed in one direction, from her to him. She had never glimpsed his inner worlds because she had never been afforded the opportunity. He had tried so hard to honor her privacy, but he had seen more of her thoughts than he should have, while revealing relatively little of himself in turn. Now each of them would be open, defenseless, vulnerable before the other's gaze. He would not be able to hide himself from her anymore than she would be able to hide from him. And what she might discover…

But as much as revealing himself to Lavellan frightened him, was this not precisely why he needed to do as she asked? It was not fair to ask for such openness from her and to hide himself when the time came for him to do the same. His worries, he realized, stemmed not from doubt about Lavellan's plan but from fear of what she would think of him when she saw all that he concealed. Would she be overwhelmed by his continued grief at the loss of Elvhenan - or, worse, would she remain indifferent? Would she compare him unfavorably to Solas, and equate him with the one who had betrayed her? Or would she gaze upon all the things he had begun to feel for her, and decide she could never share them?

Abelas sighed. Persuading Marin to change course was more important than any connection he and Lavellan were forging. If losing her was the price, so be it. "Do we have any other options?"

"I can't think of any. Can you?"

"No. If you believe this is what we must do, I am also willing to attempt it."

For the briefest moment, Lavellan smiled. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. But I must ask - if your plan fails, what shall we do then?"

Her face had gone grim again. "I already told you. I won't be taken prisoner by Fen'Harel. If we can't convince Marin of our point of view, we'll have to fight her."

Abelas's stomach twisted. Lavellan knew as well as he did that trying to fight their way out of the Vir Athemah was no different than suicide. “Very well, then. I had best consider what magic to use as a channel for our shared knowledge."

Abelas passed the night deep in meditation, shaping the contours of his spell. When morning dawned, he could tell by the deep shadows beneath Lavellan's eyes that she had not slept either. "Are you ready?" she asked him as he emerged from his trance.

"I believe so," he replied. "Are you?"

"Not really, but I have to be, right?"

They exchanged weak, terrified smiles as heavy footsteps approached them. Marin, flanked by two other elven mages, strode up to the barrier. "I've made my decision," she said without preamble. "I'm willing to hear what you have to say. But I make you no promises of what I will do after I have listened."

"I knew you'd come around eventually," Lavellan said calmly. "Why don't you drop the barrier, and we can show you what we know?"

Marin tightened her grip on her staff. "Why should I?"

"For truths such as these, words do not suffice," said Abelas. "We must show your our knowledge and our memories directly."

"I wasn't informed of this," said Marin.

"That's because we didn't decide to do it until last night," said Lavellan. "It was the best way we could come up with to convince you. Our words could make any number of false claims, but our memories can't lie so easily."

"You have a point," admitted Marin. "But if you think I'll allow you to control my mind, you are gravely mistaken."

"We will do no such thing," said Abelas. "We will project our thoughts into yours, and you will decide which aspects of them you will accept and which you will reject. It seizes nothing you do not first permit it to take. Maintain whatever wards and shields you require for your own comfort and security. But hear us out, as you said you would last night."

"What do you intend to show me?"

"Did Fen'Harel tell you that I drank from the Well of Sorrows?" asked Lavellan.

"Yes."

"Then you know that I carry the knowledge of the servants of Mythal within me, in addition to my own experiences. The Well has some strong opinions about Fen'Harel's plans - as do I." Lavellan gestured to Abelas. "As for Abelas, he will be sharing his own relevant information as well as controlling the flow of magic."

Marin paused, then finally said, "I will not consent to this manner of connection unless my fellow mages may join me and defend me."

"Of course they may," said Abelas. It was for the best, really; even if the other mages held themselves apart from the full force of the magic, they would still witness whatever he and Lavellan showed Marin and be able to corroborate what their leader saw.

"Very well, then," said Marin. She waved her hand, and the barrier around the hut vanished. "But I caution you, if you do anything suspicious, we will not hesitate to protect ourselves. You won't receive another warning."

"I expected as much," said Lavellan. She extended her hand to Abelas and he clasped it at once, unashamed of how tightly he gripped it. She met his eyes. "Shall we begin?"

"Yes." He wasn't remotely ready for this, but he would sooner fight every agent of Fen'Harel in the Vir Athemah than admit it to her. He had already begun to erect the framework of everything they were about to summon together. When he was finished, he held out his other hand to Marin. "We are ready whenever you are."

Marin nodded. The two mages on either side of her placed their hands upon her shoulders. Abelas sensed their strength flowing into her, reinforcing her defenses, guarding her against unwanted intrusions. They might make her feel more confident in her ability to defend against an unexpected mental assault, but they would not protect her from what she was about to witness. He felt the Well pulling at him as Lavellan reached for it, felt her determination pulsing at the heart of their bond. Before he could lose his nerve, he swept away the last obstacles separating Marin from the knowledge they needed to impart to her, and did his best not to lose himself as the power of the Well washed over them all.

The contents of the _vir'abelasan_ were familiar enough. He did his best to sift through the torrents of information spilling from it, teasing out the servants' most relevant memories of Fen'Harel and Arlathan and directing Marin's attention toward them. He concealed nothing: not the casual cruelty of the Evanuris, nor the murder of Mythal, nor the atrocities of the war they had fought against Fen'Harel, nor the bitterness concealed within the glory of Elvhenan. He and Lavellan and the Well spared her nothing of what would truly happen if Fen'Harel destroyed the Veil. _He wants to restore a life that would leave you behind, Marin. We do not know what he has promised you, but we know you will never live to see the benefits. He would wipe away all you know and all you are, and nothing of you or your people would survive it. These horrors and more will come to pass again if he has his way._

Mingled with the contents of the Well were Lavellan's own recollections of Fen'Harel. She could not hold back her knowledge of his conflicted emotions regarding the stunted, mortal elves his actions had inadvertently cursed - how he alternately admired and despised them, how he knew perfectly well that if his plan succeeded it would slay every one of them. She recounted in excruciating detail the conversation they'd had in the elven ruins beyond the Darvaarad, when he had all but begged her to stop him. She showed Marin the man Fen'Harel was, the man he had tried to be. _She still wants to save him from himself,_ Abelas realized. He himself had never dreamed of redeeming Mythal's killers. Her strength of will was even greater than he had known.

But behind these revelations, Abelas sensed a greater truth through the bond he had forged with her. He saw the depth of of her love for Fen'Harel, and the depth of the betrayal she had suffered at his hands, and her dream of changing his heart, no matter the price. Intertwined with it was the realization that she had changed where Solas could not, that despite all she had suffered she had begun to move on with her life. Inside her were new and tentative feelings directed at Abelas himself - admiration, and desire, and a lingering fear that in the end he would be no different than Solas, that he would abandon her rather than allow himself to be transformed.

Yet even as Abelas saw Lavellan's secrets, he revealed his own to her, just as he had always known he would. He supplemented the Well's memories with his own experiences of Elvhenan and its dangers, of Fen'Harel and the Evanuris and their assorted treacheries. But there was so much more he was giving away. Marin wouldn't care, but Lavellan might. Would she see the way his feelings toward her had shifted, from hostility to indifference to respect to something more? Would she notice how his thoughts lingered upon what they had done on the night of the thunderstorm, how he longed to do all those things and more with her again? And if she discovered how badly he wanted to stay at her side, would she accept him or turn him away?

Soon he sensed Marin beginning to withdraw from the connection. _Enough!_ she cried out wordlessly. Abelas severed the links as gently as he could. When he came back to full awareness, Marin and her mages and Lavellan were regarding each other with distant, dazed expressions. "Now do you understand?" asked Lavellan.

"Yes," said Marin, almost inaudibly.

"And what will you do about it?"

"I don't know." Marin shook her head, looking overwhelmed. Abelas could hardly fault her uncertainty, could not imagine the impact of discovering so many impossible truths at once. "But I will not hand you over to Fen'Harel." She gestured to the other mages, directing them to clear a path for Abelas and Lavellan. "You are no longer our prisoners. I offer you the same freedom you have given me - for whatever it will profit us all."


	9. Chapter 9

Although Marin had set Abelas and Lavellan free, their business with the agents of Fen'Harel was far from concluded. Lavellan's first instinct was to offer Marin and her people an alliance with the remnants of the Inquisition, but Marin did not accept. "Just because I have chosen not to walk Fen'Harel's path any longer doesn't mean I want to walk yours," she said. Lavellan wisely chose not to press the issue beyond discreetly ensuring that Marin would be able to contact the Inquisition's allies again in the future if she chose.

Marin planned to share what she had learned with the others and to try to convince them to leave Fen'Harel's service. However, changing their minds would be a lengthy process. Only a mage could be shown the Well directly through the method Abelas and Lavellan had used, and the vast majority of Marin's people had no magical skill. They would have to be persuaded through more mundane methods. Some of them would never be persuaded at all. Either way, handling the others would be Marin's responsibility.

So Marin stealthily escorted Abelas and Lavellan to the neighboring hut where she had stored their belongings. "You will need to flee immediately," she told them as they gathered their things. "Some of the other elves here will be outraged when they discover I have let you go. Leave them to me. I'll cover your escape."

"What about the traps?" asked Lavellan. "And the guard animals?"

"I'll ensure our guardians don't bother you. As for the traps…" Marin tersely told them of a safe route out of the Vir Athemah, a road that would both bypass any hazards and speed their travel through the jungle.

"Thank you for listening, and for believing us," Lavellan said when Marin had finished.

"Thank you for trusting me. I don't know if we will meet again, but if we do, I will be in your debt." A shadow of uncertainty crossed Marin's face. "Especially because there is one last thing I need to ask of you before you depart."

This was how Abelas and Lavellan ended up inside the domed, nine-sided temple they had passed on their way into camp. The barely contained power crackling throughout every stone of the building was even more obvious in the interior. The Well's warnings had been both timely and correct. As Marin explained it, Fen'Harel had discovered Mythal's abandoned and sealed Fade portal in the Vir Athemah, then sent his agents to spend the past several months scouring the Arbor Wilds for the necessary artifacts and components to open and control it while he attended to more urgent matters elsewhere. In light of what she had learned, she did not feel comfortable leaving the nearly active portal under Fen'Harel's control. Accordingly, she asked Abelas and Lavellan to destroy it before they left, a task to which they reluctantly agreed.

"What's wrong?" Lavellan asked Abelas as they stood at the center of the ritual circle, beneath a ceiling whose flaking frescoes had long ago faded into unidentifiable lines and shapes.

"So few traces of Elvhenan remain," said Abelas, shaking his head. "I hate to be responsible for obliterating one of them."

"If Fen'Harel's plan succeeds," said Lavellan matter-of-factly, "you'll be responsible for obliterating _all_ of them."

"That's hardly comforting."

She grimaced. "Sorry. The truth is the best I can do under the circumstances."

"I know. Can the _vir'abelasan_ tell you how to neutralize this portal safely?"

Lavellan closed her eyes and concentrated momentarily before saying, "Yes. Let me show you." She extended her hand, took Abelas by the wrist, and poured the necessary spells into his mind as if it were as natural as breathing. A powerful surge of pride filled him along with her shared knowledge as he thought back to how frightened and tentative, how disconnected she had been from the Well when she had first sought him out. _We have come so far together. I wonder where we'll go next._

With a final, wistful look around him, he raised his staff and cast his spells. The enchantment permeating the temple rapidly unraveled, mending the Veil, sealing the gateway, reducing the magic-imbued walls and floor and ceiling to a jumbled, meaningless arrangement of stone and plaster. But even the architecture of the building itself had been designed to facilitate spellcasting. If Fen'Harel were powerful and determined enough - and Abelas knew he was - he could easily remake what had been dispelled. Reluctantly, Abelas continued to work, dismantling the structure brick by brick, safely and systematically crushing its materials into dust around them. It was the only way to be sure.

When he was finished, they stood at the center of a flattened field of rubble. Shouts echoed in the distance, no doubt those of curious agents of Fen'Harel summoned by the noise of Abelas's work. "We should leave," he said.

"I agree," said Lavellan.

Following Marin's directions, they sprinted away from the encampment and lost themselves in the surrounding jungle. True to her word, she had provided them with an escape route that would be difficult, if not impossible, for anyone else to follow. They encountered no real dangers as they jogged along the hidden path. When the sounds and smells of the Vir Athemah had faded into nothingness behind them and they were confident no one pursued them, they slowed to a brisk walk. "It would appear the agents of Fen'Harel have lost our trail," said Abelas.

"If they were even chasing us in the first place," said Lavellan. "Can we stop soon? I'm getting tired."

"Of course," said Abelas. The sun was past its zenith now, and hunger had begun to gnaw at his innards. They would neither fight well nor flee far without resting first.

They had been following the course of a broad, rapid stream for some time, and now they heard the thunder of a waterfall nearby. When they reached the deep pool into which the water cascaded from high above, Lavellan let out a contented sigh and said, "How's this?"

"It will do," said Abelas. All the same, he cast a protective ward of concealment around the area just in case Marin's advice proved untrustworthy in the end.

The agents of Fen'Harel had gone through their belongings and taken much of the food from within. But Abelas found some stale trail rations at the bottom of his pack, and Lavellan picked some ripe berries from a bush at the water's edge. They ate in silence for a while until Lavellan said, "Thank you for your help. With all of it. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"You've come a long way," said Abelas. "It was an honor to share this journey with you."

"I should tell you...now that I have a better grasp on how to use the Well, I'll be returning to the north to meet my allies there. They need to know about what happened in the Vir Athemah. And I need to be ready in case Marin or any of her agents seek us out to join us."

"Or to attack you."

"Exactly. As much as I've enjoyed working and traveling with you, I know you've built a life in the Arbor Wilds. I've kept you away from it long enough."

He let out a single short, sharp laugh. "You call what I had a life?"

"What you call it is up to you. So is what you do with it. That's why I wanted to make sure you knew my offer to join the Inquisition - or what's left of it - still stands."

He could not meet her eyes. He had suspected she would make him this offer, but he had not truly considered how he would respond to it. "What do you want me to do?"

"More than anything, I want you to do what brings you fulfillment. What does that mean to you?"

Abelas spoke with caution, aware that he was formulating his opinions on the matter at the same time the words left his mouth. "A few months ago, I would have said I wanted to be left alone. I could not bear to see what this world had become, what my people had lost. If pressed, I might have told you I wanted to protect whatever remained of Elvhenan before it vanished forever. But going to the Vir Athemah, and meeting you…" He shook his head. "It isn't so straightforward now. It never was. Some knowledge, like the _vir'abelasan_ , is worth holding on to. Other things, like the temple we destroyed, have always been too dangerous for anyone to possess. We simply didn't understand it at the time. So now I must determine for myself what is worth preserving.

"I cannot turn my back on reality anymore. If this world, as broken and imperfect as it is, can create somebody as determined to make it better as you are, then it is worth fighting for. It is, in part, my responsibility to ensure that the things my people created are not used to harm the innocent. Mythal is out there somewhere, alive in the world somehow. I doubt she would think it right and just if the Veil were destroyed. I am still trying to do her will. I know you want to do the same - to serve her, too, in your own way. So yes, I want to join you, very much. If you will have me."

"Of course I will," said Lavellan. The smile on her lips had grown steadily throughout his speech. He couldn't remember ever having seen her so happy.

His words, now loosed, continued to pour out of him in an endless flood of honesty. "And it isn't only because you are the bearer of the Well's knowledge. It might have been, at the beginning, but not anymore. I like to think I see more of who you are now, with or without the Well. And I see you are strong, and compassionate, and courageous, and that you want to do what is right." He took a deep breath. "I care for you deeply. I wanted you to know."

"It wasn't ever you I was uncertain of," Lavellan said softly. "It was myself. At first I thought you might have been a substitute for Solas - a passable imitation, if I couldn't have the real thing. I see now how wrong I was. You are _not_ Solas, any more than I'm still the woman who fell in love with him. I don't want to be defined by my past anymore, either. I want to become something new. And I want to do it with you."

"You have no idea what a relief that is."

Lavellan shrugged. "Actually, I have _some_ idea." She leaned in to kiss him then, deeply and affectionately, and when they broke apart another coy smile spread across her face. "This waterfall is beautiful. It seems like the perfect place for a bath. Care to join me?"

"I can't think of anything I want to do more."

Lavellan made no effort to hide her nakedness as she slowly stripped off her clothes. Abelas did the same, a little embarrassed by the way his body already responded to her unflinching gaze. When she jumped headlong into the pool, he swiftly followed her, grateful for the water's scant concealment. They swam in the cool pond and washed themselves clean beneath the steady cascade of the falls, but before long they were drawn inexorably toward each other.

He kissed her even more thoroughly than he had in the ruins, sparing no attention to any part of her body: her lips, her neck, her collarbone, her breasts, the rough scarred place where her left arm ended. When she maneuvered him toward a flat spot on the banks, sat down with her back against a smooth stone, and began to gently direct his head toward the apex of her spread legs, he understood perfectly. "I can't remember the last time I did this," he murmured as he knelt down in the shallow water. "It has to have been before Arlathan fell."

"No excuses, now. I have the utmost confidence in you, _vhenan._ "

Emboldened by the endearment, he kissed her inner thigh and began. He fumbled at first, unsure of how to please her, but through the motions of her body and the touch of her hand and her throaty gasps of "there" and "more" and things that weren't language at all, he unraveled the riddle of her as gradually and deliberately as he had brought her back to the Well. When she came against his mouth, he knew only gratitude for all they had yet to learn from each other - and a growing, insistent desire to be inside her as soon as possible.

Abelas stood up and slotted his hips between Lavellan's legs. "I'm sorry," he said, breathing heavily, "I won't last long."

"It doesn't matter. You'll get a lot more chances."

He kissed her again as he slipped easily into her. True to his word, after a few deep, forceful thrusts he was spilling himself with a cry that reverberated off the rocks. He had no opportunity to feel self-conscious or ashamed. Lavellan took him back into her arms at once, plainly determined to prove as quickly as possible what she'd meant about giving him more chances.

They passed the night entirely lost in each other. Long after the sun had risen, as they reassembled their packs for the journey ahead, he said, "It's safe to say we weren't followed from the Vir Athemah. Lead the way to your allies, Inquisitor."

"Gladly. But you know I'm not the Inquisitor anymore, don't you, Abelas?"

"I do," he said, thinking uncontrollably back to the day he'd left the Temple of Mythal, to the sentence Solas had pronounced to him as he departed - _Malas amelin ne halam._ Those words had come true; he was not only sorrow, not any longer. Perhaps he had never been. "But _you_ know I'm not really Abelas anymore, don't you, _ma vhenan_?"

"I do now," said Lavellan. "What shall I call you instead?"

"I'm not sure yet," he said, and slipped his hand into hers. "Let's figure it out together."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta [Mendeia](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/mendeia) for her speedy feedback, her insightful suggestions, and her eternal willingness to read anything I put out whether she's in the fandom or not. :)


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